


Hal 2.0

by faerieswing



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4861811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerieswing/pseuds/faerieswing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was past midnight as Snake said his name like it were a prayer—a wish cupped gently in his hands …</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hal 2.0

**Author's Note:**

> Short piece, focused on Hal’s name. Contains minor reference to canon from Phantom Pain.

 

Growing up, his father told him he was named after a character in a favorite film. His father also tended to say his name with only exhaustion. Later it moved to frustration. Then indifference. No matter how hard Hal tried, he couldn’t remember his mother saying his name. Some nights he could recall a certain lilt of a woman’s voice, a hint of an accent, but never much more than a fleeting memory. He couldn’t be sure if the memories were even real. His father refused to speak of her.

He began to hate his name as a teenager.  _She_  would repeat it over and over until it had no more meaning, began to float away from him and become something other, something shameful. He recognized the sounds and the letters together, but it didn’t feel like him anymore. He didn’t feel like anyone anymore, just bits and pieces of whoever everyone else—his teachers, his father, step-mother, the ghost of his mother—wanted him to be.

In graduate school all the students went by their last names. It made him think of his father, made his stomach hurt. He never got used to answering to it—it never fit.

At work it was always “Dr. Emmerich.” It was a designation of respect but always felt more like a source of distance, keeping him from truly connecting with anyone. It was too formal to be invited out for a drink or given a Christmas card or let in on the private jokes. It felt as stiff as his new lab coat in the Alaskan cold.

Online he tried various handles: adopted Japanese surnames, combinations of a few song lyrics, a funny adjective in front of his favorite anime character’s name. He tried “Otacon” on the forums but often received PMs mocking him for the spelling. 

He silently cursed himself when that name came tumbling out of his terrified mouth on Shadow Moses. But it sounded oddly right coming from the soldier. It felt like Snake respected him—like he trusted him, needed his help. Even though Snake could be gruff, curt even at times, there was an appreciation there that Otacon hadn’t felt before. It kept him trailing behind the soldier, wanting to help, wanting to change the things about the world he’d always thought unchangeable.

Later, as their relationship shifted away from strictly business, after Philanthropy, after the Hudson, after they spent most evenings in various safe houses, watching downloaded movies and drinking cheap beer and talking …

It was the night Snake turned to him in the kitchen and closed his eyes, their shoulders touching, Snake’s fingertips against his wrist. It was past midnight as Snake said his name like it were a prayer—a wish cupped gently in his hands—warm lips a breath away from his neck, their touch electric.

_Hal_  …

Snake, who could never hide a thing in his voice, who always gave away his thoughts with his eyes—Snake was asking for something more than just the shared beer and  laughter and movies. Hal could feel the desire in his voice, the gentleness in his heart, the touch of fear lurking in the silence. There were no demands from Snake, no ulterior motives, no hammer threatening to break him into smaller pieces. Just hope. And heat.

_Hal_ —almost a moan, morphing into more plea than question.

He never imagined his name could hold such emotion, the urgency that crackled around the edges, the low rumble of warmth and tingle as Snake’s lips traced the outside of his ear. His name had never felt more  _his_  as it did being whispered against his ear, like warm water down his back, an all-encompassing feeling that someone finally knew him, wanted him. Hal had been running for so long. It was only then, with Dave’s breath on his cheek, that he could feel how tired of running he was—how much he wished to be caught. How much he wanted to feel whole again. 

_Dave_ —the answer to the question, an invitation to come closer.

_Hal_ —One hand reaching up to rest against his neck …

_Ohh_ —the prelude to a kiss. 


End file.
